


spring

by gonnapop



Series: Pokémon Breeders [6]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Lactation Kink, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Pokephilia, Pregnancy Kink, a loving relationship between a human and a bear, difficult birth, graphic birth, surprisingly tender bear sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonnapop/pseuds/gonnapop
Summary: A young man and his Beartic mate eagerly await the birth of their new litter. Sequel to"winter."





	spring

**Author's Note:**

> a quick sequel to “winter,” inspired by [this lovely message](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/post/161453086205/maybe-its-just-me-but-i-kinda-wonder-if-charlies).
> 
> side note, since Cubchoo/Beartic are ice-type Pokemon, I feel like it would make sense for juveniles to leave their dens and strike off on their own during winter, as opposed to, like, actual bears. that said, this whole thing is pure fantasy. enjoy!

Charlie is half-asleep in the nest when his mate comes home. Somewhere, outside their den, he hears the thin whistle of wind, the distant thump of heavy snow sliding from laden branches, but in here, it’s wonderfully warm, a world away from the harsh landscape. He stretches a little, yawning, one hand going instinctively to his swollen belly. He’s full of cubs, like he is every winter.

Last winter’s litter has been away from the den for almost a month now, the cubs old enough to fend for themselves, and Charlie misses them already. He always does, almost as soon as they leave, though he knows it’s the natural order of things. At least his babies usually come around in late summer, so he can see how they’ve grown. Some of them will have evolved by now; some will be raising their own cubs.

Just now, though, summer seems a long way off. His greatest comfort is the thought of the cubs still in his belly, a new litter he’ll meet in a few short weeks.

Once upon a time, he could never have envisioned this for himself. When he gave birth to his first litter, he resolved to stay in the den until the cubs were weaned, and then return to civilization. Strange as the situation was, they were his babies, and they needed him for sustenance. He couldn’t just abandon them to starve.

For long weeks, his pussy was swollen and bruised from the birth, too tender to touch. Beartic didn’t paw at him at all during that time, just kept him warm and fed while he nursed their four cubs, which grew bigger and hungrier all the time. Charlie spent most of the day with a cub on each tit; by the time two of them were round-bellied with milk, the other two were ready to eat again. He’d heard that breastfeeding was supposed to help you lose the baby weight, but Beartic fed him so much that he stayed nicely fat. Nursing also suppressed his sex drive, which was probably for the best. The last thing he needed was to get knocked up again.

But in due time, as the snows melted, the desire came back, and Beartic was more than happy to oblige Charlie. Their first fuck after the birth was long and sensual. Beartic eased inside of him slowly, inch by inch, and as Charlie’s body yielded and opened, he felt almost as if he were blooming around Beartic’s cock, the stretch as intense and ecstatic as the first time, maybe more so. They rocked together gently, like new lovers. It was overwhelming; Charlie wanted to weep.

As they lay together in the nest that night, he wondered, not for the first time, if Beartic ever had a mate before him. Maybe that was how he knew precisely what to do at all times—how to handle Charlie’s body, and comfort him, and how to care for their cubs.

Charlie had always heard that you couldn’t get pregnant while breastfeeding, so he thought it was safe to indulge further. Naturally, he was incorrect. Before long, he noticed himself getting round again, in a particular way that indicated more than just weight gain. Six months after giving birth, Charlie could tell that there were more cubs growing in his belly. There went his vague plan of striking out on his own once the cubs were weaned. He would have to stay until at least next summer.

He spent another long winter in the den, warm and full and well-fucked. Between the cubs growing inside him and the juveniles still competing for mouthfuls of breast milk whenever Charlie allowed it (though they were plenty old enough to eat what Beartic did), he was constantly ravenous. Beartic seemed pleased by the new development, always nuzzling and licking at Charlie’s belly.

One morning, in the middle of his second pregnancy, he woke while Beartic and their cubs were still asleep. Beartic was curled protectively around him, breathing slow and even. The juvenile cubs were piled in the nest, too, and the younger ones were stirring inside his belly. Sometime in the night, a cub had snuggled close to his side without waking him, and was now sleepily suckling at one tit, not out of hunger, but for comfort.

A sense of peace washed over Charlie. As he lay there, warm and drowsy, he realized how much he cherished this—waking each morning beside a gentle mate who kept him fat and comfortable, who fucked him deeply and made sure his belly was full of babies. The simplicity of it was beautiful.

All at once, he understood that he had truly come to love Beartic, in a way that he had never loved another human. And he felt loved in return, deeply. They have an unspoken bond, a marriage without words. There could be nothing better than this.

It’s his sixth winter with Beartic, and the steady cycle of breeding and birthing has become second nature to him. Really, it’s the simplest thing in the world. He spends about half the year nursing, and the other half pregnant. By the time the previous winter’s cubs are old enough to leave the den, Charlie is almost ready to birth another litter.

He’s had twenty-three cubs so far. His smallest litter was three, a couple of winters ago; with so little competition for space and resources, those three cubs grew so big that he struggled for two days to squeeze them out. (Beartic had been so anxious during that labor, whining and licking at Charlie’s cunt, as if he could coax the cubs out somehow.) His largest litter was seven. By the end of that pregnancy, he was so heavy and exhausted that he could barely move. Carrying so many cubs was a trial, but nursing them all was even more challenging. This time around, Charlie guesses he’s carrying four cubs—about average, for him.

He welcomes Beartic into their nest, relaxing against his mate’s familiar bulk. Once settled, Beartic noses affectionately at Charlie’s ripened belly, where their cubs can be seen wriggling under the stretched skin. Sometimes, when Beartic presses gently against the outline of a little body, the cub seems to press back.

Charlie rubs his belly with one hand; with the other, he strokes Beartic’s snout. “Not long now,” he says with a sigh. “A few weeks, maybe.”

Beartic snuffles in agreement, giving Charlie’s belly a gentle lick.

 

***

 

Three weeks later, Charlie goes into labor, about when he expected. He’s not afraid of the process anymore, the way he was before his first litter came. His body knows what to do, and the birthing gets easier every year, his pussy so accustomed to the stretch and give that smaller cubs practically fall out of him.

The labor has been slow and gentle; he’s pushed out three cubs so far, without problems. They’re asleep in a little pile beside him, their little bellies full of milk, comforted by Charlie’s body heat and the smell of his skin. His uterus is still contracting. He expects one more cub, probably before sunrise.

A few hours pass, longer than his usual interval between births. Still, he tries to be patient.

Sunrise comes, but the fourth cub doesn’t. The contractions are getting sharper, more intense, but there’s no real progress. It must be a big cub, Charlie thinks wearily, wedged in his birth canal. This has happened before, and he got through it each time, but there’s always the fear that this will be the birth that goes wrong.

When he can’t bear to wait any longer, Charlie gets Beartic to help him squat in the nest, legs spread wide, both to open his pelvis and to accommodate his still-swollen belly. Leaning against his mate for support, Charlie moans and huffs and shoves. The new position helps; he feels incremental movement deep inside. Painstakingly, he pushes the cub lower and lower, until at last he feels the stinging pressure that means a cub is close to being born.

As he tries to catch his breath, Charlie reaches down to probe at his cunt. There’s the cub, just beginning to emerge from between his slick folds—but it doesn’t feel like the head or the rump. In Charlie’s experience, either one would be a normal presentation, not a cause for concern. This cub, however, seems to be coming out at an odd angle. That might explain the slow progress.

There’s nothing for it—all he can do it push and hope for the best. Charlie maneuvers into a kneeling position, so he can spread his knees and brace his hands against the densely-packed nest while Beartic settles behind him. He strains, but the cub barely budges. Beartic’s snout is pressed between Charlie’s bloody thighs, licking urgently at his vulva in an attempt to smooth the way, but it’s no use. Between the cub’s size and awkward presentation, it’s so tight that Charlie can’t even work a few slippery fingers into his cunt to pull gently on the cub.

He’s not actively breathing anymore, just making deep grunting noises as he struggles to squeeze the cub out. He has no idea how long he pushes, the whole of his focus narrowed to his painfully-stretched cunt. He feels Beartic behind him, licking and nuzzling fretfully to comfort him.

When Charlie is exhausted and close to giving up, Beartic begins making low noises of encouragement. They’ve been through enough labors together that Charlie knows what Beartic means: _Push hard! It_ _’s almost out!_ He forces himself to take a deep breath and keep pushing, though his arms and legs are shaking with effort.

Charlie screams through the final push, feeling his cunt stretch just enough for the cub to slide out of him, accompanied by a splash of hot fluid.

For half a minute, he’s stunned, gasping for breath as he rolls heavily onto his side. Sure enough, when he looks, the cub is enormous, not just large but plump, much bigger than its siblings. He’s a little impressed that he was able to push it out. The cub cries pitifully as Beartic licks it clean, unhappy to be forced out into the world, but soon quiets when Charlie brings it to his breast.

It’s a relief to be done. He rests for little a while, dozing with the older cubs cuddled against his side and the newest one nursing contentedly. And then the pains come back.

Eyes wide, Charlie’s hand goes to his rounded belly, which tenses along with the contraction. There’s at least one more cub inside of him. Another sharp contraction makes him moan, which catches Beartic’s attention.

Charlie is too exhausted at this point to deliver upright, so he lies back in the nest, the fat cub still cradled against his chest and suckling. The last cub slips out with barely a push, and right away, Charlie can see why: It’s tiny, a runt, small enough to hold in one hand. This one must’ve been lodged in the birth canal, behind the enormous cub.

Unlike its siblings, the little Cubchoo doesn’t move or make any noise. Beartic begins to lick at the cub, like always, but it doesn’t react; Charlie edges closer to watch, not wanting to venture too far from the three sleeping cubs or disturb the one still nursing from his tit. His whole body is tense, humming with fear.

A long minute passes—too long. It’s never taken Beartic this long to stimulate a cub to breathe. Six litters, and Charlie hasn’t lost a single cub yet, but he’s always been aware of the possibility. Maybe this little one was stuck in his birth canal for too long, he thinks mournfully, watching Beartic work faster, with greater urgency. Maybe—

The cub sneezes and whines. Its little legs move feebly, and Charlie almost sobs with relief. When he reaches out wordlessly, Beartic picks up the cub in its mouth with incredible gentleness and carries it over. Carefully, Charlie adjusts his grip on the fatter cub and accepts the smaller one, settling it into the crook of his arm.

It takes some coaxing and cooing, but he gets the tiny cub to latch on and feed. He laughs quietly at how strongly it suckles, obviously famished from its long ordeal. He’ll have to pay special attention to this one in the weeks and months ahead, make sure it has plenty to eat so it can keep up with its siblings.

Eventually, when the smallest cub is full, Charlie allows himself to drift off, trusting Beartic to look after all of them.

 

***

 

Summer is milder here than in other places Charlie has lived, but no less pleasant than anywhere else, the woods bright with foliage, the air thick with the smells of wild growing things and the distant droning of insects. The cubs have been venturing outside the den since before the snows melted, and these days, Beartic is busy teaching them to catch fish from rivers and streams, to find berry bushes and dig for roots, all the skills they’ll need when they head out on their own at the end of the year.

On warm days, Charlie enjoys watching the cubs wrestle in the grass, or bathing in the stream, or exploring the woods that surround their home. There’s little danger; Beartic’s presence keeps most large Pokemon away. In seven years, he’s never seen another human this deep in the woods, so he feels safe lying naked in the soft grass near their den, under the patchy shade of an old tree.

Charlie is pregnant again. He usually is, this late in the season. It’s a big litter, he thinks—he’s quite round, already waddling under the weight of his belly. Five or six cubs, probably, maybe more. He’s swollen like a ripe fruit, and neither Charlie nor Beartic could be more pleased. His mate loves his body like this. Likewise, Charlie revels in the feeling of fullness, of his mate’s babies growing inside of him. 

A rustling in the bushes catches his attention. The youngest cub—the runt of the litter—emerges from the greenery a moment later, snuffling happily at the sight of Charlie. While still smaller than its siblings, this cub has proved to be strong and healthy. Charlie is grateful for this; he won’t have to worry too much when it leaves the den for good. But in the meantime, he dotes on it—he has especially tender feelings for the little cub he was so afraid he’d lost.

And so, when the youngest cub bounds over to him, whines, and nuzzles at his chest, Charlie sighs and allows it to suckle, when he ought to push it away. Cubchoo makes a contented noise and nestles closer to Charlie’s side. It’s just as well; his breasts are full and aching. If not one of the cubs, he’d have to call on Beartic to relieve his discomfort.

Nursing never fails to relax him, so Charlie settles into it, stroking his cub’s fur with one hand while he waits for the rest of the family to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed more tender bear sex.
> 
> as always, you’re welcome to message me [on tumblr](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/ask). ♥


End file.
